Of course wed never met. Though actually, on the stairs, in the street, we oftencame face-to-face; but she seemed not quite to see me. She was never without darkglasses, she was always well groomed, there was a consequential good taste in theplainness of her clothes, the blues and grays and lack of luster that made her,herself, shine so. One might have thought her a photographers model, perhaps ayoung actress, except that it was obvious, judging from her hours, she hadnt timeto be either.

Now and then I ran across her outside our neighborhood. Once a visiting relativetook me to "21," and there, at a superior table, surrounded by four men, none ofthem Mr. Arbuck, yet all of them interchangeable with him, was Miss Golightly, idly,publicly combing her hair; and her expression, an unrealized yawn, put, by example,a dampener, on the excitement I felt over dining at so swanky a place. Anothernight, deep in the summer, the heat of my room sent me out into the streets. Iwalked down Third Avenue to Fifty-first Street, where there was an antique storewith an object in its window I admired: a palace of a bird cage, a mosque ofminarets and bamboo rooms yearning to be filled with talkative parrots. But the pricewas three hundred and fifty dollars. On the way home I noticed a cab-driver crowdgathered in front of P. J. Clarks saloon, apparently attracted there by a happy groupof whiskey-eyed Australian army officers baritoning, "Waltzing Matilda." As they sangthey took turns spin-dancing a girl over the cobbles under the El; and the girl, MissGolightly, to be sure, floated round in their, arms light as a scarf.

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